Title: Equilibrium
Paring: Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG-13, for one swear word
Genre: Drama
Warning(s): None; use of one swear word
Spoilers: PoA, but I assume you've read that
Summary: "Couples? No. He had just denied that very thought this morning. Remus and he weren't a couple. Were they?"
Notes: Written in the following style: section of 300 words, 200 words, 100 words. I tried not to rush anything, but with a 600 wordcount in all, there is not much substance. The tone is new for me. I actually used fragmented sentences and ended a few with a preposition. Gasp. Feedback is sweeter than a back massage. Once again, not beta'd. All mistakes my own.

Equilibrium

I
It was generally a bad day. Started off sourly, progressed to mildly degrading, looking to end torturous. It could really be blamed upon a night of no sleep. It made his body ache. His heart ached too. He'd left abruptly. No word. Not even "goodnight." It was his fault really, that he left. It was his fault for telling him. Being so rash. Being so blunt.

It is just a fuck, Remus.

Being so stupid. A bigger lie then all the ones he's ever told combined.

Don't be so emotional; don't be a girl.

The amber eyes had folded in, like origami paper molded by some unseen hand. When they opened up again, all emotion had fleeted. Just like he'd wished. The soul inside was hidden. The windows now shut. Cold. Frozen. Not a breath escaped. And then he left. Walked right out. Bedroom, hallway, flat, London for all he knew.

Of course, he had tried to apologize. Ringing home like the muggles did. Sending owls with "I'm sorry" scrawled in messy handwriting. All to no avail. He even had included a rose in the last one. Sappy, sure. But it worked for other couples.

Couples? No. He had just denied that very thought this morning. Remus and he weren't a couple. Were they?

The day stayed bad but lengthened. It rained. Then again, it always rained. He just usually wasn't standing outside in a darken alley, begging for shelter or for at least some of his clothes. Remus had refused. Refused to come to the window. Refused to talk to him. And now seemed to refuse to allow him anything more than he already had.

Scratch that. The sound of once dry clothes hitting wet pavement was like a slap.

It looked to be a very long, sleepless, wet night.

II
A sleepless night it was. Remus sat curled on the couch, cup of tea simmering in his hands. Heat tingling through his fingertips, to his arms, to his chest, where it was slowly—slowly—melting the ice that had been immediately resurrected about his heart. It was still dark out, rain still pounding the window, a fire for beauty and warmth, the only thing keeping the room warm. Golden eyes blazed into it, hotter than the flames themselves. More strained then the muscles in his back that ached from the angle he sat. And sleep would not come. Sleep was not welcomed. Very little would be welcomed by them, especially black. Black. Sirius.

If the sun comes up, the fire dying, the tea cold, Remus will still be staring. Staring, eyes still intent. But the cold liquid will hold more of his fury then his heart. Pain burns faster then self-preservation. The ice in his heart is melting, and he'd really like someone to take his hand, warm him up, and tell him that nothing just is with him. But nobody's there.

And Sirius Black is still sitting in the alley by his lump of clothes. Freezing, but determined.

III
The new day brings less comfort then the last. Sirius remains steadfast. He tells himself so as he mounts the stairs by threes. He commands himself to be assured as he bangs on the door. He pleads with his heart to stop jack hammering when no one answers.

A key is needed. A key is found.

The room inside is vacant. Except for the lone figure. A captive of dreams on the couch. Silent, sweet. Sirius strides, collapses to the cushions, and breaths a quiet "I'm sorry" as Remus curls up to him, the truth never being more boldly spoken.